


Always Something Stupid

by miilky



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 13:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilky/pseuds/miilky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was now or never, "Dad, Philip Hamilton is doing stupid shit again," and she waited for his response as the words sunk.</p>
<p>Theodosia doesn't want anyone to know how much she cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Something Stupid

_“Why are you telling me?”_

Questionable silence enthralled two of the three women. “Why are you telling me,” she repeated, less sharply but equally irritated, “it is no business of mine.”

Martha stared, confused. Dolly followed, misunderstanding.

One assumed she did not want to know on the basis of not caring, which was accurate, and the other assumed she did not need to know because she had already known, which was also accurate.

“B-b-but Theodosia!” Martha stammered, and fluttered about, unable to contain her excitement, “He could very well die. Don’t you know that?”

“I’m sure she does, Martha,” Dolly reassured, but she was unsure now, with Martha’s emotional outburst standing in between them. Nothing could be counted for and against their friend’s uncomfortably put response.

Theodosia rested in her favorite chair, reading her favorite book-not a book as her friends understood books (not a novel) but a collection of essays complied into two, separate volumes, and paid little attention to her companions’ increasing distress with her disinterest.

These moments were the little joys in life, she believed.

“I understand very well that he may die,” there was a clipped texture to her voice, and she did not raise her eyes above her book, far too comfortable to think of doing so, “and I very well understand that he may refuse the offer of this senseless act.”

Her tone meant to indicate the end of the conversation, but neither young lady, seated to the left and right, were willing to put aside their reservations.

“But it would be cowardly,” Martha said in a low whisper.

“But he would be alive.”

“But he would never hear the end of it,” Dolly added, and much more thoughtfully than she ever intended, “the Hamilton name will go even further down in mud than it already has. He won’t stand for that, will he?”

Theodosia’s sepia colored eyes appeared from above the book, and Dolly, whose sentences rarely made sense and usually collided into one another, ruffled at their forwardness.

She deliberated briefly on her response, and tense resignation wound itself like an indomitable twine within her words, dragging the coffin down more so than burying it before it had the chance to reach the morgue. 

Steel certainty braced her mouth, although the book’s smooth cover carefully concealed her face.

"No, Hamilton men take slander to the grave, either through the offender's sacrifice, or their own," she answered, and shadows swept through the parlor, and fear struck their hearts as they cast their eyes upon each other. But it was not fear for themselves, they were quick to realize, and that made it all the more harrowing. 

o00~00o

Theodosia was correct to say it was no business of hers. But she could not explain what happened and why it happened several hours later in the parlor. She had remained in her chair, comfortable and warm, and was reading a new book, one without an obvious name, when her father arrived.

After her companions’ departure, she settled in her home and thoughts concerning the young man whose life was in possible mortal danger were pushed aside. Logic said there was nothing for her to worry about; he was smart, as he always claimed, arrogant enough, as he had always proven, he could get out of this with his life intact.

Nonetheless, when her father started discussing his day, inquiring about hers, and looked in direction, something strangled inside her chest. An explicit but frighteningly subtle strangle that made her pause in her reading and stare at her father without fear, or the faintest glimmer of surprise. If she did not say it now then she would never say it, and she was positive her insides would not strangle but burst, causing her to suffocate in her own fluids.

She lowered her book and rolled her eyes, and her brow furrowed tightly, “Dad?”

“Yes, Theodosia?” Her father turned, and his brow furrowed tightly-the resemblance too uncanny in this moment, “Is something wrong?”

It was now or never, “Dad, Philip Hamilton is doing stupid shit again,” and she waited for his response, letting the sentence sink. 

Aaron stared at her completely, fully, and a wry grin shaped his face wonderfully, "When isn't he?"

“Well, this might actually kill him. I think it is only right for you to inform Mr. Hamilton of his son’s situation.” She rose off the chair and walked towards the stairs, “And be kind, understand me?”

“Dearest child,” he kissed her forehead warmly, “Hamilton is my friend, and I would only want someone to do the same for me if you were in such a situation.”

“Not that I would.”

“You are too clever for that.”

That did the trick. That strange feeling removed she went to her bedroom to prepare for bed, and what a calm night it was. Mr. Hamilton would reign his son in, give him solid-constructive advice, and by tomorrow this masculine driven event would be just a bad dream. Philip would learn humility, George would keep his tongue still, and she, _she_ , she wanted to think of someone other than herself.

As pillows cooled her warm cheeks, she focused her waning energy on the things they would not do together in the near future. An argument had concluded their last conversation, with her gaining the upper hand the last moment, and everyone present watched in amusement as the future poetic politician abandoned his smooth tongue and left it dangling helplessly in those final moments. 

She lacked the tools to accurately predict the crippling helplessness she would feel the following the day, and the years after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think it was meant as a prompt exactly, but a friend of mine gave this fantastic line. I couldn't past it up. Philip still dies though.


End file.
